


dancing with our hands tied

by SKJC



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Mutual Pining, Past Geralt/Triss Merigold, Side Keira/Lambert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKJC/pseuds/SKJC
Summary: Triss returns to Kaer Morhen to help her friends confront the Wild Hunt, still suffering from her regrets of her failed relationship with Geralt. She's not expecting to pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Eskel/Triss Merigold
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Battle of Kaer Morhen in The Witcher 3, as well as content from the books, including references to the ending. You can probably guess the subject of the "canonical character death" tag.
> 
> For context, I always play TW3 with the Yen romance and with the full crew at the battle.
> 
> (Note, 05/21/2020 - Edited and revised because I realized that I posted the wrong draft. Yep, that's how my life is going!)

The crumbling fortress of Kaer Morhen, set into the mountain peaks that rose against the backdrop of the sky, looked much the same to Triss Merigold as it had all the other times she’d been there. She’d observed once before how the place had seemed frozen in time, back when Geralt had first returned from… well… _wherever_. 

_He chose her, again, still,_ she reminded herself sternly, and tried to shake the past from her head as she contemplated the walls of stone. _You’re here for Ciri’s sake. Nothing else. No one else._

The thought did little to hold back the flood of guilt-tinged regrets that roiled her gut. Regardless, she forced her legs to carry her towards the gates, wondering if she’d be welcomed by Vesemir’s fatherly affection, Lambert’s biting wit, Eskel’s reserved gaze… Or whatever Yennefer might have to say to her. She put any thought of seeing Geralt out of her mind entirely; she had to, or she’d depart as quickly as she came. 

“Hello?” She called tentatively upon reaching the courtyard, where it would usually be sunny and bright this late in the day, but today, an overcast sky painted everything in a dreadfully grey veneer. 

“Who’s there?” 

That voice was definitely Eskel, and Triss gave a little sigh of relief. He was likely to be one of the kinder receptions she would receive. “It’s only me,” She shouted back, walking towards the keep until she spotted the red leather of his armor, bright against the backdrop of the firewood he’d been stacking. He smiled slightly at the sight of her, and she couldn’t help doing the same in return - friendly faces had been in short supply in recent years.

“So it is.” Eskel pulled off his gloves and brushed the remnants of wood dust from his sleeves as he approached her. “I’m glad to see you again, Triss.” He paused for a moment, and then, like he was starting over, “That is, after everything I’ve heard about the troubles in Novigrad… It’s good to see you’re well.”

“If only certain others might be so glad to see me as well.” Triss tried her best to make the words sound like a wry attempt at levity, but they were true, no matter whether or not they stank of self-pity.

Eskel arched one eyebrow as it seemed her meaning sank in. “Ah, well,” he started, and then cleared his throat. “Well, I can only speak for myself… But Geralt has yet to return, and I think Yennefer has her hands full right now.”

It certainly _had_ sounded that way when Triss had heard they could use her assistance at the keep to begin with. “Then I suppose I only have Lambert’s judgement to worry about for the time being.”

Eskel laughed out loud at that, and the sound made Triss grin a bit wider. “Oh, don’t worry about that. None of us are above Lambert’s judgement.” Before he could say anything more about the younger witcher, a gust of cold wind blew through the courtyard, carrying with it a wave of fat raindrops. “And there’s the weather we were expecting... Come inside.”

His bare hand on the small of her back as he ushered her inside the keep, trying to shield her from the rain, tingled with the same warmth it always had. 

  
  


\---

  
  


It turned out that Eskel had been right - Yennefer was entirely engaged in the healing of the elven mage, and so Triss tried instead to busy herself with settling into her room, whatever that meant in circumstances such as these. But by the following morning, she was unwilling to continue to sit idle, and made her way to the infirmary where Yennefer was working, led there easily by the clear buzz of magic in the air.

_Regardless of her opinion of me now, maybe I can help,_ Triss thought, trying to convince herself of that as she knocked gently at the door. 

“Yes?” Yennefer’s voice was sharp yet weary.

“It’s me.”

A moment later the door swung open, and the exhaustion on Yennefer’s face matched her voice. “Triss? You came.”

“Of course. Ciri needs us, all of us.” Triss tried to swallow past the anxious lump in her throat as she entered the room. “And… Yenna, you look…”

“Like I haven’t slept in a fortnight?” Yennefer finished the sentence for her, less charitably than she perhaps would have herself, although not inaccurately. “That wouldn’t be far from the truth, as it turns out, so if you’ve come to help, I’d appreciate it. Keira’s useful enough, but constantly complaining -”

“Keira is here?” Triss wasn’t generally one to interrupt, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting to hear of Keira Metz at Kaer Morhen, and that was more of a shock than the sight of the man laid out in the room. It was true that she’d barely left her own room since her arrival, but Keira was generally quite hard to miss. 

“Oh, yes, at Geralt’s invitation. It seems they became quite _friendly_ in Velen. I’m sure I don’t need to explain further... Especially not to you.” Yennefer punctuated the statement with a purposeful roll of her eyes, offering no acknowledgement when Triss winced at her words. “Anyway, I’ve kept her busy making potions and amulets, and I can’t deny it’s been helpful, but it’s quite an ordeal to keep him stabilized while all of that works.”

The thought of Geralt fucking Keira Metz turned Triss’s stomach - that barb certainly sank deeper than the bit about her - and then, she realized that had likely been Yennefer’s reason for suggesting the detail in the first place. “Tell me what you need me to do,” she said, instead of letting those thoughts continue. 

Weaving her own energy into the web of spells Yennefer had set up to keep the man alive while he healed was far from a great challenge for Triss, though the unspoken tension between the two of them made it no easier. It took time, seemed to take forever, but eventually the process was complete, and Triss bore the largest share of the magic’s burden herself, an intangible weight that settled across her shoulders like badly fitted plate armor. 

“You should try and get some sleep,” she said quietly, and Yennefer’s spent expression studied her, quiet, unreadable. 

“I should,” Yennefer eventually replied, and crossed the room to sit on a sparse mattress that had clearly been thrown in a corner as an afterthought when the small infirmary had been rearranged for this sort of magical care. After several moments of silence in the room, she spoke again. “You know, Triss, as soon as you fully and completely understand that he will never again choose you while I am an option, we can begin to be proper friends again.”

“Yenna, I never meant to -” 

“Yes, you did. This time, and the last time, and before that as well, you’ve always meant to. Don’t argue. I don’t want to hear it. We’ve spoken of this once before, and perhaps the shock of that most horrible of days allowed it to vacate your mind. But this time, I do hope it sticks.” 

To that, Triss said nothing. She remembered perfectly well the venomous words Yennefer had spoken to her. She had tried, briefly, to defend herself then before all hell had broken loose - and this time, she knew she wouldn’t bother. Yennefer was right, after all; she would never be the person Geralt wanted. So, she stood there, contemplating the floor by her feet, waiting for Yennefer to continue - except that the room lapsed back into near-total quiet, except for the labored breathing of the man being kept alive by magic. 

\---

The day had gone on past dusk by the time Triss re-emerged from the room, thoroughly exhausted herself by that point. Yennefer had insisted on taking back control of the spell once she was fully rested, and with as chilly as she’d been in the process, Triss didn’t care for the idea of antagonizing her old friend further. 

The cold passageways of the castle were mostly dark, but Triss had spent enough time walking them that she knew the way back to the main hall, and found Lambert and Eskel drinking by the crackling fire. Bottles littered the table, along with the remains of the evening meal, and she wondered if any of them were anything she could indulge in.

“You look like shit, Merigold.” Lambert kicked a chair out from under the table for her in a surprisingly thoughtful gesture. “Come on, have a drink.”

“Is there anything here that won’t kill me?” Triss asked, glancing pointedly at the bottles, though she took the offered seat and grabbed some of the hard bread and cheese that was left on a plate. The effects of the magic had left her not only tired, but hungry - her morning meal seemed like an eternity ago.

“We aren’t drinking Gull tonight. Vesemir’s orders, booze only, until all this is over with.” Eskel pushed a chalice across the table in her direction. “Vodka. I swear.”

She nodded wordlessly and snatched up the cup, taking a large swig of the biting liquid. The burn of it settled uneasily into her mostly-empty stomach, but she chased it with another regardless. 

“Long day?” Eskel asked, watching her drink in a manner that made her self-conscious enough to want another, and Lambert laughed.

“Lock me up all day with Yennefer and I’d need more than fucking vodka, are you kidding? Pass her a bottle and be done with it.”

Triss shook her head, even as Eskel complied and slid one of the bottles her way as well. “It’s not… It’s complicated.”

“There’s the fucking understatement of the century.” 

“Thank you for that observation, Lambert.” Triss drained her cup completely and reached for the bottle. “Can we please talk about anything else? I’m sure one of you must have some story to tell that would be more entertaining.”

And certainly they did, they always did. The witchers’ stories passed the time as well as they ever had, despite Geralt’s absence, and if she’d heard some of them before, and already knew others weren’t entirely true, that was all fine just the same. It didn’t really matter, not when the fire was warm and she was pleasantly drunk, sinking into the daze of it. 

\---

Eskel’s mind wandered while Lambert drunkenly stumbled through an asinine tale that he recognized as one of the grandiose pieces of bullshit his brother loved to peddle to women who didn’t yet know the difference between a witcher and a hero. After all, there wasn’t a chance in hell Triss would buy it, especially since he was pretty sure she’d heard it before, on another drunken evening in the same damn hall. 

_The winter she spent here when Ciri was a girl,_ he thought, his thoughts muddled by his own liberal consumption of alcohol. _Yeah, had to be then. It definitely wasn’t back when she and Geralt were the happy couple the first time around._

If they had been, he wouldn’t so clearly remember her attempts at getting Geralt’s attention, her pouty glances across the table after Ciri had been sent to bed and the drinking had begun. Whatever Geralt had been thinking then, Eskel had never understood it, and never tried to think too hard about it. If he allowed himself that, he knew he’d come to envy the man, and found that idea unacceptable.

Geralt had bid them all goodnight fairly early, for him - and done so politely but firmly in Triss’s direction. The tension in the room had been palpable, and he remembered how Lambert had broken it with a quip about a pretty boy like Geralt needing his beauty sleep. It had been the wee hours before the bottoms of empty bottles had inspired all still present to seek their beds.

And if Eskel hadn’t sought his alone that night, well, it hadn’t been because he was a stupid man under the impression that it was anything other than what it was. Truthfully, as she shuffled through the process of lacing the bodice of her dress afterwards, he was fairly pleased that at least she hadn’t called him by Geralt’s name, at least not that he’d noticed.

“You can stay, if you want.” He hadn’t made the offer out of any romantic notion; he knew better than that even then. “The fire’s already lit, after all.” A stupid thing to say, in hindsight, to someone who could light fires with no effort to speak of, but how could he have been expected to be sensible under the circumstances?

“No. I’m going to… Back to my room.”

And it had clicked, when she hesitated. 

“Of course.” He’d looked over her tousled hair, the red patches he’d left on her neck that were visible in the firelight, her clothes that had gotten rumpled in the time they’d spent on his floor. “Good night, Triss. And be careful you don’t get lost on the way… All the corridors look so similar, and it would be _so_ embarrassing to disturb anyone.” Alluding to her intent had been churlish, uncharacteristically unnecessary to do it at all, but between the intoxication and the shock, he’d lacked the restraint to stop himself.

More clearly than the rest of it by far, he remembered the emotions that had flashed across her face - Humiliation, shame. And then she’d been a blank page again, gone without a word, leaving him alone with that regret. Neither of them had ever brought it up again, and he sure as hell wouldn’t. 

Lambert’s voice shouting his name shook him out of the memory, and it took more effort than he liked to focus his eyes on him. “What?”

“Are you even listening? Tell her about your succubus or some shit, I’m sick of doing all the talking here.”

“There’s a first.” Eskel took another drink, and felt giddier than he should have when Triss giggled at that from where she leaned heavily on the table _._ “And I don’t think she wants to hear about stuff like that, anyway.”

“Oh, right, I forgot you’re the only one of us who’s a gentleman.” 

“Don’t be mean, Lambert…” Triss managed to sit up straight just long enough to empty her cup again. “Eskel is right… I don’t want to hear that story…” She continued mumbling as she laid her head down on the table atop her crossed arms, speaking less to anyone and more just saying words as she went on. “Eskel has always been the nice one… Gods above, why couldn’t I have fallen for him instead…”

One silent moment hung in the air before Lambert’s hysterical laughter rang off the walls. “What the hell is in these drinks,” he choked out, even as Triss clearly still had no idea she was speaking aloud. “Did we give her White Gull by accident after all or something?”

“... spared myself this whole fucking nightmare…”

Eskel rose from the table, standing steadily by sheer force of will alone. This situation now had a plethora of possibilities for getting worse and he didn’t want to be present for any of them. 

“You got nothing to say to that, seriously?” Lambert was still laughing, the prick. It had been a while since Eskel had actually wanted to punch him. 

“Say to what?” Triss slurred, lifting her head again, her confused stare focused at where Eskel had been sitting, before it shifted to where he stood. 

“You didn’t hear what you just said, Merigold?” 

Yeah, Eskel really wanted to punch him. It wasn’t a great feeling and he didn’t care for it all that much. “Shut the _fuck_ up, Lambert.”

“I said…” Triss’s brow furrowed in thought. “No, I… I was only thinking…” Her eyes widened suddenly, to the point where it would have been comical in any other situation. “I didn’t… Oh...”

If Eskel wasn’t actually rooted to the floor, he certainly felt as though he was. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to clear enough of the drunken stupor from his mind so as to not say anything too stupid. “Just forget about it, okay? I will.” 

That clearly wasn’t the ‘not too stupid’ thing he’d been searching for, because her eyes filled with tears, and he sighed deeply. Crying women never failed to make him incredibly uncomfortable, no matter how drunk he was. Hell, that usually made it worse. “Look, I’d be a liar if I said I never asked myself that same question, all right? But it doesn’t matter now.” And maybe that was too truthful, who fucking knew, because she didn’t say anything else, just stared at him, blinking slowly like a damn cat, and put her head back down on the table, hard enough to make a sound.

That seemed to Eskel like as good a time as any to get the hell out of the hall and go sleep it off _._

\---

  
  


Triss wasn’t even fully awake before she was retching her guts out into a bucket someone had left beside her. Sharp spikes of pain exploded behind her eyes as the first morning sunlight registered to her sleep-adjusted sight, and she vomited twice more before pressing her face back against the cold stone floor. Her hips and shoulders ached terribly, but the stabbing in her head and the twisting in her belly were worse by far. Even so, as the swirling quicksilver memories of the previous night solidified in her mind, her physical misery helped to drown out some of the humiliation she felt.

It was all foggy, but she remembered what she’d said, how Lambert had laughed at her, how Eskel had contemplated her with that same steadfast expression as always even as he swayed where he stood. 

She groaned and curled into a ball, willing herself not to cry. Her head hurt too badly for that. She was unsure how much time had passed before she became aware of light footsteps in the room, and heard the quiet _clink_ of a cup being set down next to her head. 

“There’s no magic in that, child. Drink.” 

Vesemir’s voice. Triss forced her eyes open a bit.

“Drink,” he repeated. “Slowly. It will calm your stomach.”

Triss eyed the cup warily. Vesemir knew her allergy well enough, that didn’t worry her, but she doubted her ability to keep even a sip of it down. Her mouth felt as though it were coated in a thick layer of forest moss, and her entire digestive system was doing the cartwheels of a court jester.

After several deep breaths, she managed to push herself into a semi-upright position without vomiting again, which seemed a good sign. One sip of the herbal concoction did indeed, stay down - _gods bless whatever witcher invented the only hangover remedy on the Continent that doesn’t taste like goat dung,_ she thought - and then another. 

It did calm her stomach, though her head still throbbed like a war drum. It was still an improvement.

“The boys ought to know you can’t drink like they do,” Vesemir said after a while, once she was sitting cross-legged on the floor staring blankly into the empty cup. 

“I wish I could blame them, Grandfather,” Triss said dolefully, “but unfortunately, and as usual, I’m afraid I must bear the responsibility for my own poor choices.” 

“Hmm.” Vesemir regarded her carefully from his seat by the fireplace as she pushed herself off the cold floor and back onto one of the chairs. “It sounds as though you might be speaking of more than just the drink.”

Triss screwed her eyelids shut, rested her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. “Oh, I’m afraid I may have said something very stupid. The only way I think I could have made it worse is if I’d...” She stopped abruptly, a blush heating her cheeks. “Well, if I’d done something even more stupid. Forgive me if I won’t finish that thought after all.” 

It took a moment before understanding passed over Vesemir’s expression. “Ah.” He coughed conspicuously and shifted in his seat in a way that reminded Triss of when she’d had to lecture the witchers about young Ciri’s menstrual troubles. “Well. In that case, I’m sure you don’t need an old man’s advice on such matters. I’ll ask no questions.”

“I think I may be beyond advice anyway,” Triss muttered, more to herself than anything else. “In fact, I think I’ve been beyond advice for a long time, and too wrapped up in fictions of my own creation to realize it.” 

Finally, she decided that she needed more sleep than a few hours on the floor, and made her way back to her room - carefully, as it still seemed that the ground wanted to shift underneath her at random. It wouldn’t do to be exhausted if Yennefer did ask her for any more help... And spending the day in bed carried the added benefit of evading her problems. 

\---

Over the next few weeks, the castle became a more crowded place. It seemed that Geralt had left no stone unturned in his search for allies in the coming fight. There ended up being no shortage of things to do, which Triss was grateful for most days. 

It hadn’t really surprised her that Eskel treated her no differently after she’d made a fool of herself, beyond a bit of awkward silence between them when they were alone. But, he wasn’t the sort of man who got a kick out of humiliating people. 

Now, the fact that _Lambert_ had kept his mouth shut, that had surprised her. He was exactly that sort of man. She wondered if that was because he’d suddenly grown a conscience, or because Eskel had told him not to say anything, or because he was just waiting for a more opportune time to bring it up - like in front of Geralt. Well, that joke would be on him, because Geralt already knew better than most how pathetic she was. But, as it turned out, once Geralt finally returned with Ciri in tow, even Lambert was more concerned with preparing for the battle ahead than with making fun of her.

Waiting around for something terrible to happen wreaked havoc on Triss’s nerves like little else as it was. It reminded her far too much of the days before the battle at Sodden Hill, what felt like a lifetime ago, and it filled her with a restless worry. 

It was that worry that led her down to the courtyard where Eskel was installing the last of the witchers’ traps he’d been working on. Not that she knew what she wanted to say to him, but it seemed necessary nonetheless. There was already a disconcerting chill in the air, or perhaps she was imagining it, but she shivered as she walked all the same. 

He heard her coming, of course, and turned to watch her approach, maybe a little more guarded than usual, but she didn’t really trust herself to tell. 

“Sorry to bother you,” she said, trying her best to mask the anxiety in her voice, and he shrugged.

“No bother. I’m just about done here anyway. Not much else to do but wait.”

“I know. I hate it.” 

It was strangely comforting when Eskel chuckled. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

They walked for a little while in silence, to nowhere in particular, while Triss tried to figure out exactly what she’d wanted to get off her chest. “I’m sorry,” She said abruptly, and then gave a frustrated sigh. “For dumping all of my regrets on you, I mean. Hell, I’m sure you know what I mean. I put you in a bad position and I’m sorry.”

“Triss…” Eskel shook his head slowly. “You don’t owe me an apology. It’s not like I spent years pining away because you didn’t want me.” He gave her a wry half-smile. “We all have regrets. You aren’t one of mine.”

That wasn't really what she’d been expecting to hear, and she just looked at him, surprised. “I wouldn’t deserve you anyway,” she muttered under her breath, but of course he could hear that.

“Agree to disagree,” he replied evenly, and reached out to place one hand comfortingly on her forearm. When she shivered almost imperceptibly at the tingle of his magic when he touched her, he gave her a soft, questioning look. “All right?”

She took a bit of time to consider the implication of the question before responding, simply, “Yes.” And then she leaned up to press her lips against his, anxious as he tensed in surprise and then relieved as his hands settled on her hips, holding her closely as he kissed her back, gentle and chaste but strangely intimate at the same time, and it made her heart flutter as the kiss lingered on.

“For luck?” Triss asked tentatively when they parted, and she chewed at her lip nervously, but to her surprise Eskel just laughed and took her hand.

“Okay.” He brushed a loose strand of hair off her cheek and grinned widely at her. “For luck it is.” 

\---

  
  


The funeral pyre burned well into the night, long after all the platitudes had been said and the decisions had been made. Triss knew she ought to get some sleep before the morning came and she and Yennefer had to depart, but her feet carried her back towards the lone figure that remained by the fire.

Eskel didn’t react when she came to stand beside him, but he did squeeze her hand when she took his. “Please don’t ask me if I’m all right.” He sounded more defeated than she’d ever heard, and it tied her stomach in a knot around her heart.

“I wasn’t going to.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to sound stronger than she felt, for his sake. “Are any of us supposed to be all right?”

The noise he made was half-laugh, half-sob, and he sagged into her embrace as she wrapped her arms around him. They stayed like that for a while in the moonlight as the flames burned, saying nothing else. Finally, he followed when she led him back inside the castle, leaving behind the smoldering pyre under the starlight. 

Triss lit the fireplace in his room with a wave of her hand as they entered, and Eskel started in surprise. “Gotta get used to that,” he muttered, and winced sharply as he tried to shrug off his gambeson. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, pulse suddenly racing with concern. “You said you weren’t hurt!” She had been patching everyone up after the battle, and he had sworn he was okay, told her to focus on Lambert and Yennefer. Now she regretted not forcing the issue.

“I’m not. Just got my ribs busted up a little -” Before Eskel could finish, Triss uttered another spell and his troublesome armor vanished, leaving him standing in a tunic and his smallclothes. “I swear, Triss, they’re not broken.”

Despite the protest, she walked him backwards until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring him down the entire way, and shoved the tunic up to see the angry bruises on the side of his chest, already turning a mottled black and blue. “You helped build the funeral pyre like this?” She asked, barely believing it. Even if he was right, he still had to be hurting more than he had been letting on. 

“That’s how I know they’re not broken.” Eskel inhaled sharply and grunted in pain as she pressed the palms of her hands against the angry bruises and focused on a healing spell, even as he protested its lack of necessity. Once she had finished the spell and withdrawn her hands, the bruises still persisted, though faded to a sallow shade on his flesh. 

“You should have said something,” she said softly, and cupped his scarred cheek, caressing the rough skin with her thumb. 

Eskel leaned into the touch and looked up at her, gazing into her eyes for a long moment, unguarded. “I’m sorry.”

Triss wasn’t sure if she kissed him first or vice-versa, but it didn’t matter. They were here, and alive, and neither of them wanted to be alone. For right now, she thought, that could be enough, even if it meant their passion would be tinged with grief and longing. If nothing else, he held her like she was wanted, and she hoped he knew what that meant to her even if she wasn’t entirely certain herself.

Eskel’s strong hands came to rest on her hips and she let him settle them both onto the mattress next to each other, the linens coarse and cool and smelling faintly of him. She shivered and he pulled her even closer, half-covering her body with his own. Their already languid kisses slowed even further until they were barely more than just breathing the same air. He rested their foreheads together and heaved a shaky sigh, trembling slightly, and when Triss opened her eyes to see his face in the firelight, there was a single trail of moisture glistening on his cheek. She was struck with the urge to kiss it away, but spared him the additional affront to his pride.

“Sorry,” he said again, this time so quietly she could barely hear, yet so thick with emotion that it made her aching heart twist painfully in her chest. “I might not be very good company after all.”

“Hmm, agree to disagree,” Triss murmured, and it was comforting when the corners of his mouth turned up just a twitch. Being vulnerable was as hard for him as it was for her, maybe harder, she knew. It wasn’t in his nature to allow someone close when he was in pain, and yet he hadn’t yet pushed her away. If anything, he held her tighter.

\---

Mere hours later, Triss found herself watching the dawn slowly illuminate Eskel’s face as she laid across his bare chest, while his fingers carded lazily through her hair. His eyes were half-shut, and she could sense his contentment - a scary thought, because she felt just the same, and yet…

“I have to leave, you know,” she said, sadly, breaking the reverie. “Yenna and I. We need to find what’s left of the Lodge.” 

Eskel’s eyes opened, and he inhaled sharply. “Yeah. Guess the fight’s still not over, huh.”

“Not until Ciri is safe for good.” Triss sat up slowly, trying to draw out the moment, though she knew Yennefer was probably waiting on her already. They’d agreed on sunrise, though Yennefer had wanted to leave at once, in the middle of the night. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and went about dressing from where most of her clothes were sitting in a pile on the floor. When she was done, she stood and turned to face Eskel, still abed. 

“I overheard you mention that you’ll be heading for Lormark?” She asked, anxiety creeping into her voice again.

“I don’t know for sure.” Eskel sat up, clearly in little haste. “At least it’s not here.”

“Here’s not so bad.”

“Maybe not. But I can’t stay.”

Triss nodded, and she really did understand. “You know,” she started, and then hesitated, wondering if her meaning would come across or not. “They pay well for witchers’ work in Kovir.”

“I have heard that,” he agreed, gazing at her wistfully, and that emboldened her as much as it made her not want to go. 

“You’d be perfectly welcome.”

Eskel made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat, maybe a sigh, she couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything for long enough that she thought perhaps the offer had been a mistake. 

“I can’t just slot into whatever domestic fantasy you had for yourself with Geralt, you know,” he said, finally. “I don’t say that to be cruel, Triss, but… That’s not me. I’ll just disappoint you.”

There was no malice to his words at all, and in fact he sounded rather melancholy, which was what really bothered her about it. It wasn’t unfair, and he wasn’t wrong. She certainly had imagined a future where she and Geralt had a home, a _life,_ together. It was true that the loss of that fantasy, no matter how unrealistic it had always been, was still an open wound. Her own feelings had betrayed her so egregiously that she was terrified of them now, and yet, she knew with clarity that if Eskel were to be gone from her life forever after she departed, it would be one of her biggest regrets.

She sat back down on the bed next to him and took his hand, steeling herself with a deep breath. “That’s not what I want, Eskel.” She held his gaze for a moment before she continued. “I don’t know, exactly, how I feel about you. I don’t know if I would trust myself enough to believe it if I thought that I did.” He watched her expectantly, not interrupting, and she took that as a good sign. “I just… I want to be sure that I’ll see you again.” 

A pleased smile slowly spread across Eskel’s face at that, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek, and then her lips. “Now, that’s a different request,” he replied, and she smiled back. “I suppose I’ll have to see if all these rumors about the work in Kovir are true, then.”

“Really?” Triss asked, her heart swelling with hope - what an unfamiliar sensation _that_ had become.

“Of course.” Eskel kissed her quickly, again, and then released her hand. “Now, if Yennefer is expecting you, please go, because I don’t want her mad at me for keeping you.” 

And Triss laughed, suddenly feeling more free than she had in a long time.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the winter solstice, Eskel contemplates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to continue this, but I couldn't get the first part out of my head and I wanted to use it for something, so here we are! There will be a final part someday, probably.
> 
> Note: While this is mostly game-era fic with some book references, I do prefer the book description of Triss over her fire-engine red hair in the games. :)

The days that fell after the battle at Kaer Morhen were some of the bleakest that Eskel could remember in a long time. The place had lost its heart and soul with Vesemir’s death, and despite the unspoken expectation from his brothers that he be the one to take up that place there, the haunting emptiness of the keep was intolerable. Perhaps a day would come where the place felt like a memory he could face, but for now, watching the others depart only strengthened his resolve to follow, before the seasons forced his hand and the first big snowfall held him hostage until spring.

Geralt and Ciri, gone off to see the emperor of ploughing Nilfgaard. There were many things he’d had to work at not envying Geralt over the years, but audiences with royalty were not on that list. Lambert, riding off down the pass with the blonde sorceress Keira Metz - and whatever _that_ was _,_ Eskel wasn’t sure that it would outlast the aftermath of Lambert’s brush with death, but it wasn’t as though that was any of his business. 

And, of course, Triss, who had vanished into the morning light at Yennefer’s behest. Allowing himself to lament her departure even a bit was a new sensation, and one he wasn’t sure he liked at all. He’d always been able to keep her in an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ category in the past, but now that he’d all but promised to see her again, he dreamt endlessly of emerald eyes and chestnut hair - only to remember when he woke that, by her own admission, not even she knew what he was to her. 

As a much younger man fresh on the Path, before he’d ever known her, before Deirdre and his mangled face, before he’d given up on making sense of the world and resigned himself to simply living in it as best he could, Eskel had traveled to the far reaches of the south. The fine white sand of the seashore there had dipped beneath a body-warm ocean that was such a radiant, translucent blue that one could see the fish that swam along the bottom. Yet despite the fact that it was a thing of beauty in a way the seas of the north had never been, the currents still dragged men to their deaths beneath the waves just as they did in Skellige. 

He’d recalled the southern seas often over the years, whenever Geralt lamented his tortured relationships with one sorceress or another, or anytime he heard a bard in a tavern playing from their repertoire of songs about the love life of the infamous White Wolf. He’d sworn long ago to never be pulled beneath those waves himself. It was borderline insanity to even consider the possibility.

And yet, here he was, treading water.

\---

Traveling the war-ravished land in the dead of winter with the rhythmic clacking of Scorpion’s hooves beneath him on the empty road brought Eskel an odd sense of calm, despite the fact that he knew well enough how deceptive the peace of the icy landscape really was. Necrophages of all sorts lurked in the hills, drawn by the mass death from years of conflict and disease throughout the region, and each village or settlement he came across was eager to pay him a pittance to kill a few of the monsters. 

At least it meant his presence was welcome enough that, with a bit of negotiation, he could usually get a bit of hot food and a place to sleep as part of the bargain. No matter how bad the accommodations, it usually still beat a shoddy lean-to of his own construction, or an iced dome shelter dug out of the snow. 

Eskel spent the winter solstice in a downtrodden little town near the Buina river. Black banners had begun to appear across the land since the news of Radovid’s death had spread through, but it meant little to him. Most men who sought power were ill-suited to it, but as a general rule, he had no quarrels with any particular kings. His concerns were much smaller, like who had brewed the terrible ale he was drinking, or how men with normal human stomachs managed to consume what passed for food in the inn.

The place was as ramshackle as they came, built of rough-hewn timber and a lopsided thatch roof that dripped melting snow on the heads of the handful of patrons drinking by the light of a simple stone fireplace. The portly woman who was the innkeep stirred her cookpot over a second fire, and her two daughters poured the questionable ale. Even calling it an inn was a reach, as they didn’t let out rooms, but rather a space to sleep in a single back room, shared with any number of others. 

Given that choice, he decided he would definitely prefer the stables. At least he was fairly certain that Scorpion didn’t have lice and wouldn’t stab him in the back as he slept, and he couldn’t say the same about the men around him on either count.

As he stared into the fire, wondering how much sleep he’d be able to get before his extremities began to freeze or any of the teetering drunks around him stumbled out into the yard to start a fight, the younger of the two serving girls came around next to him. “Anymore ta’ drink, ser? Or ma has a bit o’ supper left…” Her eyes widened when he looked up at her. 

“Only the drink.” There was no way he could stomach any more of the food. He pulled a bit of coin from his pocket and held it out to her.

“Thank ya, ser.” She took it and refilled his cup, splashing a bit of ale on the table in the process, and then looked down at the floor and shuffled her feet in the dirt. “And, ma wanted me ta’ say, if you were wantin’ ta’ buy... ah… a lady this evenin’, that neither of us girls are… occupied.” She stumbled a little over the last word.

Eskel regarded the girl silently for a moment and rubbed at his face. He was no celibate monk, and he wasn’t above paying for sex, but he did have _some_ scruples - the older girl looked like she wasn’t even Ciri’s age, and the one before him couldn’t be older than fourteen. “I don’t think so,” he said, and tried his best not to sound too gruff, but the poor girl just gave a quick bow of her head and all but ran away. Her shaky sigh of relief as she went wouldn’t have been audible if he had normal hearing.

He shook his head and took a big swig from the cup. It was no great shock - he knew perfectly well that there were young girls selling themselves to survive all over the Continent - but he couldn’t help but wonder if there would ever be a war or a king that might make the world a little better than that. He wouldn’t bet any money on it. 

When he finally made his way out into the freezing wind, the moon hanging low in the clear sky lit his way out to where the equally ramshackle stables stood. He’d left Scorpion there earlier - something he was always skeptical about. But when his prickly warhorse had allowed the young man overseeing the place, older than the serving girls inside but still a kid in Eskel’s eyes, to touch his bridle without biting or kicking him, Eskel had figured he would be all right.

The same man was seated on a hay bale inside the stables when Eskel slid the door open, repairing an ancient-looking saddle by the light of a single candle, and he dutifully rose to his feet. “Somethin’ else I can do for you, master witcher?” 

Eskel struggled for a moment to remember his name from earlier and couldn’t. The local ale was stronger than it seemed, if nothing else. “No, just decided I’d rather sleep with my horse than with drunken strangers.”

“Aye, ser, ma runs a good place, but I like the horses more my own self also.” The young man chuckled and sat back down to test the seam in the leather he was working on. “Gimme a shout if I disturb you, ser.”

Eskel gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement and went over to Scorpion’s stall. The stallion was already brushed and blanketed, and even by the low light he could tell a thorough grooming job had been done. He’d stashed his gear in the stall earlier as well, and he was pleased to see it all appeared untouched. 

“We’ve spent the night in worse places, eh?” He scratched at Scorpion’s forehead and patted his neck. The horse was already dozing off where he stood, and the hay and grain in the bin was almost entirely gone. “Seems like you like it here, at least.” He got a snuffle and a snort in reply. 

Arranging his bedroll in the straw wasn’t so bad despite the smell, and if he slept half-sitting up in one of the front corners of the stall, he could probably get through the night without getting stepped on or shat on. Still bundled in his cloak and furs, swords by his side, Eskel settled into his makeshift bed, and listened to the wind whip through the tree branches outside.

Trying to clear his mind to sleep was harder than it used to be. These days his thoughts simply occupied themselves with Triss, recalling how perfectly her slight form fit against his chest, or her deceptively delicate hand caressing his face, or her little shiver sometimes when he touched her, even innocently, for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t ever gotten up the nerve to ask her about that, mostly because he hadn’t really wanted to know the answer until recently. Keeping that sort of thing out of his mind was what had stopped him from feeling like _this_ for years. 

Riding north wouldn’t be an option until spring, and despite the longing he felt, he was still apprehensive of going to her. The spectre of everything that he knew she’d desired with Geralt would hang over them, and the fact that she wanted to see him again wasn’t the same thing as wanting to be with him, he’d been reminding himself of that since she’d left him alone in his bed at Kaer Morhen. Besides, he had no way of knowing if she was even in Kovir whenever he did head that way. Had she and Yennefer found the other sorceresses they sought? Even if they had, who knew what else they’d gotten entangled in. 

Eskel leaned his head back against the wooden wall, drew a deep breath of the freezing air in through his nose, and exhaled a long, tired sigh as he pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. It didn’t seem like sleep was going to come easy. _Should have had one more cup of that shitty ale._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in Kovir, Triss gets some good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't wrap this up in this chapter, but the next one ought to do it!

Spring in Kovir consisted mostly of cold mornings and windy days, but Triss still found it a welcome change from the damp grey chill of winter. She had a lovely set of rooms set aside for her in the seasonal royal residence in Lan Exeter, but the city’s grand canals and marbled walls had given her a vague sense of claustrophobia after gazing at them for too long from her windows.

Her cottage here in Pont Vanis was much more to her taste. It was shaded by the limbs of the birch trees that towered overhead, with a stone-walled yard where she thought she might plant an herb garden, and a little barn that stood empty and riddled with cobwebs. It was a pleasant walk down well kept roads to the grounds of the palace or to the city center. The scene was just about as peaceful as she could hope for, and she had taken to sitting outside in the mornings, watching the birds, and trying to gather her thoughts before she was expected at the palace.

The finality of watching Geralt and Yennefer planning out their future together before she’d finally departed had stung, but it had felt more like an emotional habit than anything else, the way it was supposed to feel because she could hardly remember what any other way was like. At least her work was ambitious and interesting, and burying herself in it helped give a direction to a day to day routine that otherwise felt like a fog she was drifting through. 

She continued to correspond with Philippa regarding the remnants of the Lodge, despite her skepticism of Philippa’s intentions. King Tancred had tasked her with helping to revive something resembling the old Council, and for that she would have to make use of the few powerful friends she had left. If mages could help maintain peace in the Northern Kingdoms under Nilfgaard’s rule, it would only bolster Kovir’s official position of neutrality. With any luck, and given enough time, she thought she might be able to convince Philippa their end goals still overlapped. 

Ciri wrote frequently - or rather, Crown Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, heir apparent to the throne of the Nilfgaardian Empire, as her fine calligraphy on gold-trimmed parchment always read. Triss still hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of the first letter she’d received bearing the crest of the sun, but it was undeniable that her ‘little sis’ was well suited to the role that was her birthright. Ciri still had a lot to learn about the political side of things, but she’d always been a smart and resourceful girl, and with the right guidance she was likely to manage quite well. Powerful friends, indeed.

Keira, too, had been in contact on occasion. She was uninterested in politics for the moment, or so she said. She wrote about spending the winter in Oxenfurt, hoping to invent a way to use synthetic mutagens to inoculate people against the plague. Triss had to admit that her theories sounded like they might have potential, but they were a long way from being of any real use. Lambert featured heavily in her letters as well, mostly a source of exasperation from the sound of things, but she spoke of him fondly nonetheless. 

The two of them actually weren’t half bad for each other, though she hated the pangs of jealousy that wrapped themselves around her like tangled vines when she put it all together. There was no one to blame but herself for her empty home and empty heart, she knew, but the reminder felt a bit like karma was taunting her. 

She found herself thinking of Eskel often. Patient, reliable Eskel who was wittier in private than most people knew and who treated her with respect even when it was more than she deserved. She thought of nights by the hearth at Kaer Morhen, lamenting Lambert’s unfortunate attempts at cooking or laughing together at Ciri’s antics. It turned her stomach to wonder what he might have been thinking of her all that time, after she’d stooped to every low to seduce Geralt, and then chased after him like some pathetic lovesick maiden.

Of course he was wary of her after everything, no matter what feelings he might have ever harbored for her. He’d witnessed her manipulative machinations firsthand. Why shouldn’t he think she was just looking for a way to soothe her hurt feelings, a warm body to take Geralt’s place in her bed? She wouldn’t think better of herself if she were the one in his place, after all. 

Yet the tenderness and longing in his touch had stayed with her, muddling her thoughts and tying her feelings into knots. Her perceptions of her own memories seemed unreliable and untrustworthy. Each time she recalled that last night they spent together, it was impossible not to wonder if she was fooling herself to think it meant he cared for her. What if she’d only taken advantage of his grief to assuage her own? That was a horrific thought when it came to her, and she hoped desperately it was only her own self-doubt. 

It occurred to her on multiple occasions that it might be within her power to locate him with magic. There were a number of locating spells in her repertoire, and her skills at hydromancy would likely produce results, especially with the heightened amount of magical energy he possessed. But each time she was tempted to try, she pushed the impulse away. It seemed too much of an intrusion, too familiar, shoving in somewhere she might not be wanted. It was the exact opposite of who she wanted to be.

Even so, her heart ached for the sight of him.

\---

Even a fortnight before Belleteyn, the mornings were still cool enough that the chambermaids had started the fireplace in Triss’s office before she arrived. The room was minimally furnished with her desk, a grandfather clock, and some shelves of reference materials. A larger suite was unnecessary, since she neither wanted nor needed to live in the palace. The plush velvet curtains were drawn back, lighting the room enough to see by, and her correspondence had already been delivered. It lay in a stack on the desk, along with a pot of tea wrapped in a thick knitted cozy. She poured herself a cup, mixed in a bit of honey, and took a sip before shuffling through the small pile of notes and envelopes.

None stood out as particularly important as she scanned over the elaborate seals and ostentatious penmanship, but one stood out as particularly plain, made of coarse paper, free of decorative script, and closed with a blotch of plain beeswax. Triss’s heart leapt into her throat, even though the neat but blocky print was unfamiliar at first glance. Had she ever even _seen_ his handwriting? She couldn’t remember, but there was no one else who would write to her like this, there couldn’t be. Her hands trembled as she tore into the envelope rather than bothering to peel back the wax.

> _Triss,_
> 
> _I hope this finds you well, because I sure as hell can’t guess the reliability of the post in Hengfors. At least the roads are passable now that the snow’s melted._
> 
> _Haven’t had trouble finding work since I headed north. A town nearby is having problems with some kind of draconid, but I don’t expect peasants to tell a wyvern from a basilisk at a glance. Not that it really matters, the pay they’re offering’s pretty good either way. Sure beats scraping by all winter, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome around here._
> 
> _I should make it to Pont Vanis around Midsummer if you still want to see me. If not, guess you can always tell me to fuck off, right? I wouldn’t want to wear out my welcome there either._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Eskel_

Triss read the words over and over again, lingering each time on the closing salutation as her quivering fingers traced over each letter. He was safe, he still wanted to visit, and the knowledge brought her such joy that she felt as though she were floating on a cloud. Her cup of tea was no longer steaming by the time a sharp knock at the door startled her out of the trance-like state.

“Good morning, my lady!” The door creaked open to reveal her clerk, Mirjam, a tall young woman with cropped blonde hair and a bright smile. “Ah, is everything all right?” She asked, entering and closing the door behind her.

Suddenly a bit self-conscious of how she must look, mooning over a letter, Triss swallowed past the lump of emotion that seemed stuck in her throat and tucked the bit of paper away in her skirts. “Oh, I’m fine,” she replied, “I’ve just heard from someone I’ve missed dearly these last months, that’s all.”

“Oh?” Mirjam raised an eyebrow playfully. “A gentleman, perhaps?”

“He might not describe himself that way,” Triss said, smiling at the thought, “but yes, I would say so.”

“Well, I do hate to call you away in that case, but His Majesty would like to meet with you at the top of the hour, rather than this afternoon, should you not be otherwise engaged.”

“Of course, of course.” Triss snuck a quick glance at the clock, checking to see how much time that gave her, even as she nodded along. Being available as needed was a primary function of her role here, and she’d manage regardless of even the most pleasant distractions. ”Please let His Majesty know that I’ll be present as requested.”

“At once, my lady.” Mirjam gave a short bow and slipped back out the door.

Triss spared a wistful sigh when she was alone once again before she set about gathering the reports and other materials she needed for her meeting. Even as she worked, she was beginning to count the days until the festivities of the Midsummer holiday in her head. It was one of her favorite times of year anyway, and now that she had this to look forward to, everything seemed a little brighter. 

  
  



End file.
